“It is hungry,” he said fiercely. “You don't know what that means, do you?”
“Signor Rivarez,” interposed Gemma, coming forward, “my lodgings are quite close. Let us take the child in there. Then, if you cannot find a vettura, I will manage to put it up for the night.”
He turned round quickly. “You don't mind?”
“Of course not. Good-night, Mme. Reni!”
The gipsy, with a stiff bow and an angry shrug of her shoulders, took her officer's arm again, and, gathering up the train of her dress, swept past them to the contested carriage.
“I will send it back to fetch you and the child, if you like, M. Rivarez,” she said, pausing on the doorstep.
“Very well; I will give the address.” He came out on to the pavement, gave the address to the driver, and walked back to Gemma with his burden.
Katie was waiting up for her mistress; and, on hearing what had happened, ran for warm water and other necessaries. Placing the child on a chair, the Gadfly knelt down beside him, and, deftly slipping off the ragged clothing, bathed and bandaged the wound with tender, skilful hands. He had just finished washing the boy, and was wrapping him in a warm blanket, when Gemma came in with a tray in her hands.
“Is your patient ready for his supper?” she asked, smiling at the strange little figure. “I have been cooking it for him.”
The Gadfly stood up and rolled the dirty rags together. “I'm afraid we have made a terrible mess in your room,” he said. “As for these, they had better go straight into the fire, and I will buy him some new clothes to-morrow. Have you any brandy in the house, signora? I think he ought to have a little. I will just wash my hands, if you will allow me.”